


Anything Goes

by afterism



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Character Study, Crossdressing, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/pseuds/afterism
Summary: Willie Scott being born a boy doesn't change the world, but it changes Indiana's.





	Anything Goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).

> Thank you for your excellent prompt, this was a joy to write! I hope you enjoy it :D

Willie Scott has only ever wanted three things:  
1\. A stage.  
2\. An appreciative audience.  
3\. A wig that doesn't make his head feel like it's covered in fire ants.

On a good day, he gets two out of three.

As of five minutes ago, the stage was on fire, the audience had run screaming at the first gunshot, and his favorite wig (blonde, curled, piled high like his dreams) was probably a smouldering ruin, lost forever in the rush of being kidnapped.

(And — sure, a dingy club squeezed in between an opium den and a fish restaurant wasn't ideal, but a boy escaping from the dreary realities of Missouri didn't have the whole world to escape to; just corners like that, havens of self-expression that were now _on fire_.)

"Keep your wig on," his kidnapper says, who clearly thinks he's hilarious. Willie draws in a deep breath for another round of screaming, letting the rage fill him up so there's no room for fear, but then there's more gunfire, and _there's a kid driving the car —_

(If he makes it through tonight, he's getting on the first boat back to — well, Christ, not Missouri, but maybe in New York he can get a decent slice of cheesecake. Of course it would be the same drunk sailors in the audience, wolf-whistles and rough hands up his dress. Maybe he's not at his most rational while tearing through the narrow streets of Shanghai in a car that's probably stolen, the happy adrenaline of a good performance drowned out by his pounding heartbeat, but he's _furious_.)

It's not his fault he's never had any interest in what Lau gets up to; who cares where the diamonds come from, as long as they're real, right? On stage Willie is all silver thread and glass jewels, a deep-voiced gem in sequined high heels, but he would wear Lau's gifts to bed and feel something close to happiness with the warmth of gold against his skin.

(He's learnt to keep precious things close to his heart; you can run faster with everything you own glittering on your wrists. If he was the sort of boy to admit mistakes, he might regret slipping that curious little blue vial into his bodice — but it's always been better to have what someone else wants than to have nothing at all.)

———

The plane feels uncomfortably like home: cheap, cramped, and full of feathers.

Willie wears Indiana's discarded suit like haute couture and assumes he looks fabulous in it, although there aren't any mirrors and Indiana is curiously shy about looking at him. Maybe it was easier when he was in a dress; now he's a guy in earrings and short hair and a cinched waist, wearing a too-large man's suit like a girl would. The only shoes he has are his heels, silver and strappy and sturdy enough to spend a night dancing on.

Indiana has settled on dealing with him with a cautious kind of gruffness, neither respectful or flirtatious, and Willie isn't going to stand for _that_.

(Straight men are rarely worth the effort, always too rough at some point along the way, but this one — well, Willie watches the shape of his mouth, the loose angles of him as he sleeps, and bites his cheek against the pointless curl of attraction. Still. There's no harm in having a little fun, right?)

———

By the time they reach Pankot Palace, Willie hates elephants, insects, water, dust, bats, the outdoors, India, and Indiana.

On the bright side (and heaven knows Willie's had enough practice finding those), Indiana has stopped treating him like an exotic species, something to be kept at arm's length and not looked at directly lest it bite. One night spent sleeping rough, Willie exhausted from screaming and all three of them close to the fire, and now Indiana thinks it's okay to tease him about the state of his hair and just laugh when Willie fumes about the clubs he should be playing right now.

It turns out that Indiana's smile is infuriatingly handsome. It makes Willie hate him even more.

The palace, at least, is an oasis of civilisation. There are baths and incense and burnished copper lights, jewel-toned fabrics and elegant sculptures on every wall, and Willie hasn't seen a single insect since they arrived. He feels, at last, like he's somewhere he belongs.

(Asia can still be pretty liberal where the British haven't got to it; maybe the mysterious Maharajah is looking for a special companion. Willie admires the gilt on the edge of his mirror, the stones on the necklace left out on his dresser, and lets the hope harden like a diamond.)

The clothes they left on his bed aren't really to his taste, plain wide trousers and a long tunic cut for broad shoulders, but the fabric shimmers when he picks it up and is pale enough to look like gold under the flickering lamp lights. It'll do, for now.

He keeps his earrings on.

———

"I've got a present for you," Indiana says, and Willie eyes him warily. He's tired, he's starving, the palace is still too hot at night and the dressing gown laid out on his bed stops at a weird point halfway down his shin. He is not in the mood.

Indiana grins, crooked and terrible and attractive, and Willie is still glaring at him when Indiana pulls a silver tray of bread and fruit out from behind his back.

Oh, God, Willie's never been so happy to see an apple in his life. He loses himself in three perfect, crisp bites, moaning without thought, and then swallows them down and takes a step back into his bedroom with the tray. He looks Indiana over, rapidly reconsidering his opinion; there's something dangerous about the flutter of his heartbeat, the way Indiana is still in the corridor like he's ready to call it a night. A gift without expectation. It's been a while since Willie had one of those.

(And, good lord, must the man have so many styles? He's met prima donnas with less looks. The disheveled professor is making him want to turn in his homework late and be kept back after class.)

Willie licks the juice from his lips, and says, "Perhaps you are a gentleman." He takes another step back, wearing the room like an invitation.

"I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome," Indiana says, following him inside.

It could be nothing, just Indiana searching for familiar company in this carnival-mirror palace, but there's a heat in his gaze when he steps close and plucks a grape from the tray in Willie's hands and — oh, there's that familiar kick in his stomach, the opening chord that says _something's about to happen_.

Maybe he was wrong about Indiana. He's learning some new things about himself, too.

"They suit you," Indiana says, his fingertips brushing Willie's neck as he catches the glitter of one earring in his hand. His voice has fallen rough, low and confident, and Willie takes another bite of his apple and watches Indiana's gaze slip down to his mouth, his throat, lower. His appetite is, somehow, gone.

"You should see what else I wear to bed," Willie says, flushed and light-headed in a way that has nothing to do with hunger, wondering how close they can get before he's forced to make the first move.

Indiana grins, and surprises him again by kissing him first.


End file.
